Transcendence

By H.G. Ahedi

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ Transcendence is a bit like an episode of "The Twilight Zone" 

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ A page turner, s

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harbeer Ahedi
• Release date: Oct 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9780648779865

Book preview

CHAPTERS

1. The War We lost

2. Scar Less

3. Double Vision

4. A Message In A Bottle

5. I’m No Einstein

6. The Universe Plays Cruel Games

7. The Orions

8. Sotor System

9. Strangers In Town

10. Dead Night

11. It Never Ends The Way You Think It Will

Other Books By H.G. Ahedi

About the Author

Chapter 1

The War We lost

World War II

France

1944

The last explosion left Zane Carter’s ears ringing. It took a while before his senses returned. The chilly wind whisked over the dead and carried the fog through the forest. From within the smog, Zane saw figures coming toward him. Raising his M1 Garand rifle, he aimed and fired. The thick fog swallowed the figures as if they had never been there. The air carried a mixed odor of gunpowder, blood, and death. He heard shots, and two men to his far left fell.

As he reloaded his gun, Zane gritted his teeth. The cold wind swept through the gap between his trousers and shoes. His wool serge coat was insufficient to keep him warm. Leaning against the tree, he waited and watched. He knew they were out there, many of them. The burning sensation across his knuckles told him he was still alive, perhaps still human. But he definitely didn’t feel it. He was more or less a machine, following orders and pulling triggers. Taking lives was all he did. He cradled the wounds on his knuckles, remembering his last hand-to-hand combat with a German soldier. He’d won that time. But one day, his turn would come.

Zane remained alert, his eyes searching for the unseen enemy. Far away, he could hear shouts, screams, and gunfire. In times like these, his mind always drifted to the past. The faces of his mother and father ran through his mind, and images of the cornfield he loved so dearly flashed in his memories. Love? He didn’t know what that was anymore. Zane had taken more lives than he could count, and he was only twenty years old. He’d felt his father, a preacher and a farmer, pray for his wellbeing; perhaps that was why he was still alive. But survival was not enough. He longed to drink clean water, eat home-cooked meals, sleep in his bed without nightmares, and walk through his field.

Something moved in the fog. A figure came close and kneeled next to him. It was Archie Flavin. Archie was a soldier Zane had met on the ship that had transported them and thousands of others to the shores of France. During their journey, he had gotten to know Archie, and the pair had developed a bond, a friendship.

Zane turned his attention to his surroundings. Death was brewing, and there was no way out. Their mission was simple on paper: take France back. The reality was utterly different. He should have spoken up, but he was just another soldier serving in the infantry division of the US Army. They were fighting an already lost battle. For the last two days, they’d been stuck about a mile away from a heavily armed German post. Their job was to take it out. The lieutenant had ordered them to march south and take the post out from the other side. But the German ground troops and the sudden air attack had surprised them. Although their numbers were greater, Zane doubted their capacity to win. The allies had taken Rome back recently, which had been a boost, but they were nowhere near victory.

Zane had left with sixty men. Now only a dozen remained alive. They’d lost their captain, and Zane had since taken over the responsibility of saving the rest of the men. An explosion had damaged the radio, meaning that calling for help was out of the question. They had underestimated the airstrike. They had underestimated a lot of things. The only way they would survive was by joining the squad fighting the Germans in the south-west. But the Germans had surrounded their squadron from all sides, killing off soldiers one by one.

A loud whistling sound filled the air, and a blast shook the ground. A plane flew over the forest, heading south.

We need to move, or we’re dead, said Archie.

Zane nodded. He signaled for the men to move. Another loud whistling noise dominated the air. Multiple blasts hit the ground. They were thrown off their feet.

Keep moving! Zane shouted.

From within the mist, figures began appearing. Zane aimed his gun and pulled the trigger, killing as many German soldiers as possible. Hopefully, this would give the others a chance to escape.

The noise of gunfire was deafening. Zane nodded to Archie, who bolted. Zane spotted and shot down two soldiers who were aiming at his friend. He ducked when a rain of fire hit the tree beside him. His muscles tensed; fear grasped him, but he had to give everyone a fighting chance. One good deed before the end. He kneeled, aimed, and fired. After taking down a few soldiers, he knew he had overstayed his welcome.

He remembered the words of his trainer, Mr. Goldbart: Never try to fight a lost battle! Stay alive. No matter what.

He spotted two men hiding no more than a few yards to his right. He heard hushed footsteps. The vague figures appearing and disappearing within the fog were unmissable. A loud sound resonated throughout the forest. An enormous group of planes flew miles overhead. This was his chance, his only chance. He put the rifle on his back and waited. The first explosion burned the trees to his left. He threw himself to the ground. Run! he told himself.

Zane bolted. He ran so fast that he surprised even himself. Another blast. The shrapnel flew through the air and hit his leg. Ah! he shouted, stopping for just a second.

He ran again, his leg bleeding and his heart pounding. Just a few meters more. A ball of fire launched itself at him. He stopped as the forest ahead of him burned. A bright light blinded him, and a powerful blast threw him backward.

* * *

Zane sat up, screaming. Panting, he placed a hand on his chest, trying to control his breathing. His skin was cold, as though his lungs had turned to ice. A mixed sensation of cold and heat ran through his body. What happened? What happened? he said out loud.

The blast echoed in his head. He remembered the forest, his friends, and the Germans. After that, nothing. He noticed thick bandages covered his hands. He tore the smelly woolen blanket off of himself and looked at his toes. He slowly wiggled them, expecting them to ache. No pain. He dragged up his loose, hole-ridden pajamas and examined the bandages on his legs. That’s going to leave scars, he muttered.

Zane gradually moved his leg and almost burst into tears, beginning to realize that he was in one piece, alive.

He gasped when he heard a dry, raspy noise, like the sound of something moving through the walls. The room vibrated, and it almost felt as if a train was passing by. He moved to the corner of the bed, and the noise vanished. The room was gloomy, with only a narrow window near the roof as a source of light. Zane stood up slowly, careful not to aggravate his wounds. His feet buried themselves in the muddy ground. The air was thick with the foul stink of urine and something dying or dead.

Zane believed he was lucky. He placed his hand on his face. No bandages, but he felt rough hair. He walked toward an old rusted mirror on the wall and looked at himself. The skin on his face was pale and ghostly. He gently touched his long, thick beard and his hair, which had grown to his shoulders. He wore a filthy, torn white shirt, which was two sizes too big. He felt like a beggar.

Dejected, he turned. Then he saw something that filled him with delight. A tray of food sat beside his bed. He pounced on it, tore the bread, and began eating. He quickly gulped down the small portion of canned meat and dried egg. He relished the meal, hoping it wouldn’t be his last. He drank the glass of water, but then he suddenly stopped. The glass fell from his hand, and he rose to his feet. He stepped closer to the cracked, dusty window. He waited. No bombs. No planes. No screams. No gunfire. Complete silence.

Tears rolled down Zane’s cheeks. He dropped to his knees and cried. For the last two years, he had prayed every day that the Great War would end. Finally, the silence had come. He sobbed, unsure of whether he was happy or sad. Then a question popped into his head. If the war was over, where was he?

The dreary brick room was bare except for a bed and a table. There was no door. The air was stale and foul, and it was cold. Zane ran his hands over the walls, but he couldn’t find an exit. He moved the bed and saw two boxes, one containing his uniform and the other some books and letters.

Where is the door? he wondered, walking in circles. Puzzled, he looked up and saw a square-shaped handle on the ceiling. He cleared the table, dragged it under the handle, and reached for the latch. The wooden door opened downward. A rope ladder dropped.